Clear Blue Skies
by clearblueskies
Summary: George Weasley after his brother's death. Warnings: Angst, angst, more angst- with a quasi-happy ending.


**Clear Blue Skies:**

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><p>First is the numbness. The mind blowing numbness that says, <em>this is all just a bad dream<em>. And you don't know why, but you can't feel anything because the world is a blur and you can't move because it feels like a part of you has just _died_. You just stand there and stare. And then you go to his funeral and everyone is crying, but you're just standing there, _watching_, like an outsider. And you should feel ashamed, you should feel upset, you should _feel (but you don't)._

And then the pain hits you, with the might of a thousand sledge-hammers, except worse, because there is no way to stop the pain. _No way. A_nd your head is pounding and your heart is being ripped apart, and you're reasonably sure that if you look down you will see a dozen knives sticking into you- or maybe swords (_dipped in acid set on fire_)- yes, that's it... (_The Cruciatus is nothing, nothing compared to this.)_

But then comes the emptiness, the barrenness, the desolation, and it is so horrifying, you wish the pain had stayed. Because this is worse. You have nothing to distract you from your memories. And you still haven't shed a single tear, because you're beyond that. He was your best friend, your brother, your twin, your other half. All you are left with is that hollow feeling, because half you has just vanished, disappeared, and (_is this what it feels to have your soul sucked out?)_

You're angry with him, you realise. No, not angry, _furious, enraged, incensed_. He _left you behind_! And you were born together- supposed to live, _die_ together and the whole _unfairness_ of this entire thing knocks the breath our of you. You want to shout, to hex him, to punch him in his stupid face and tell him that he hates him, that he is a fucking _bastard_ for ever leaving him and-

When the crying comes, you know that you're on the mend, and _dammit, _you don't want to be, because that would mean _moving on_, and you're not ready, not ready. And all you can do is cry, lie in bed and cry, because the emptiness is still there, and the pain is coming back, and you just _wish it had been you instead_!

The crying soon, though, and you lie in bed. This isn't like the numbness though. You can feel the pain, but it is at the back of your hard. You lie there, just... _existing_. Feeling your breaths enter and leave your body, feeling the blood coursing through your veins. (_It does you good.)_

Then one day, you look in a mirror. And for a brief second, something happens that tears your heart out and rips it into shreds, almost ripping away your sanity. Hope. For that _one second _you feel hope. You hope, _maybe he isn't dead. Maybe this __is__ all a dream. Maybe-_ You catch another glimpse of red, red hair and blue, blue eyes in the mirror and a scream escapes your lips. A scream, but something more, a cry of insanity, all your anguish and anger and resentment and betrayal and grief and _everything_ coming out through that one scream, and for that moment, you truly _are_ insane. Beyond thinking, beyond feeling, beyond _living_, beyond everything.

People come tearing into your room, people you know, people you _should _know. Except you don't. Everything is black. You hear hushed, hurried whispers around you, shadows moving here and there, the smell of antiseptics and potions and medicines.

One day passes. And another. And another. (_Time has no meaning)_

She comes to visit you. And she doesn't speak, doesn't say a single word, just sits and holds you, because _she loved him too_. She's your link to reality, because she's just-there. She's real and she's solid and she's _alive_. You can hear her heart beating and her lungs pulling air in, out, in, out.

When you wake up after that, you can see. You look out of the window, and the sky is blue, blue like his eyes were- like your eyes _are_- - and you look at the clouds and you _smile_. You aren't back to normal yet. Not even close. But you're on your way.

A person can survive with one kidney, right? A man can see with one eye, and hear- you almost chuckle at the irony- with one ear- and you will pull through with just half of you.

You remember the good things now- not the fights, not the annoyance, not the guilt (_the heart-wrenching, soul-sucking, omnipresent guilt_). You remember nights spent plotting pranks and talking about girls. You remember shared toys and chocolates and hopes and dreams- and you realise what everyone has been telling you is true. He would have wanted you to laugh. He would have wanted you to smile. He would have wanted you to continue with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and he would have wanted you to fall in love, get married, have kids. He would have wanted you to name your son after him.

As you look out at the clear blue skies, you think you can hear him laughing.

**_A/N: Well, a story after my penname was long, LONG overdue. :)_**


End file.
